“Henderson was worried that he might have gotten the message wrong,” Jarrod told them. “But he repeated it to me, and he was correct. The message was the message we settled upon before the mission, and a round of cheese was the item Sussex chose to present as proof that the message was from him.”
“What was Henderson’s impression?” Colin asked. Before he and Gillian married, Colin and Jarrod had shared Jarrod’s town house. Colin knew that Henderson was the very soul of discretion and believed wholeheartedly in the work of the Free Fellows League. He also knew that Henderson was a first-rate judge of character.
“Henderson doesn’t believe His Grace would ever willingly miss a meeting.”
Griff nodded. “We’re all in accord, and we’re all concerned.”
“I was concerned enough to pay a call upon Sussex House this afternoon,” Jonathan volunteered. “Daniel wasn’t there, and the dowager duchess hasn’t seen him since last evening either, but that’s not unusual, since her apartments are in the opposite wing.”
“Did she sound concerned?” Griff shifted his weight on the sofa, then propped his right leg on the ottoman Colin had removed from Jarrod’s path. Leaning forward, he reached down to massage his thigh in an effort to relieve the ache from the saber cut he’d taken across his hip and thigh during the battle of Fuentes de Oñoro. It had been two years since his injury, but the wound still pained him when he stood for long periods of time or when he danced, and he’d spent a good portion of the previous evening dancing with his wife at the Duchess of Sussex’s ball.
“She didn’t sound so much concerned as annoyed,” Jonathan told them. “Aunt Lavinia was quite exasperated with him for failing to stand with her to greet their guests. She was convinced that Daniel deliberately avoided her last night because he was angry at her for failing to include Lady St. Germaine on the guest list.” He glanced at Colin. “It seems that Aunt Lavinia always omits Miranda St. Germaine’s name from the gala guest list, and that Daniel has made a habit of sending her a separate invitation—much to Aunt Lavinia’s chagrin.”
“Miranda’s wasn’t the only name the duchess omitted from the guest list,” Jarrod reminded them. “Why didn’t she include Colin and Gillian? And why didn’t Sussex send separate invitations to everyone his mother had failed to invite?” Jarrod demanded, pacing harder and faster, equally annoyed that Daniel had managed to include the Marchioness of St. Germaine on his mother’s guest list, yet neglected to add Colin and Gillian to the list. “When did Sussex add the marchioness’s name to the list?”
“I’m sorry,” Jonathan apologized for his aunt and his cousin. “I don’t have an answer for that. Aunt Lavinia didn’t mention Grantham or his viscountess. But she was quite upset at having the Marchioness of St. Germaine appear at the front door with the invitation Daniel had sent her.”
Griff drummed his fingers on the arm of the sofa in a show of agitation. “I’m afraid that doesn’t bode well for the future,” he muttered. Lady Miranda St. Germaine was his wife’s closest friend and had served as Alyssa’s maid of honor at their wedding. Miranda was a frequent guest at Griff and Alyssa’s Park Lane house, and at Abernathy Manor, their country house in Northamptonshire. Griff was privy to a good many of Miranda’s aspirations regarding the Duke of Sussex, whether he wanted to be or not, because Alyssa thought Sussex and Miranda were a perfect match and was determined to see Miranda become the next duchess.
“Maybe not.” Jonathan grinned. “Because this battle of wills over Miranda has been going on for quite some time. Daniel sends the marchioness an invitation every year and adds her name to the final guest list. The dispute has become so heated of late that my aunt refuses to tell Daniel when the invitations go out or allow him to see the final guest list. Last night she gave the staff strict orders that Miranda was not to be allowed entrance to Sussex House unless she was accompanied by the Prince Regent. Aunt Lavinia was furious because Miranda got past both footmen and Weldon, the butler, by waving the invitation Daniel sent her.”
“That’s outrageous!” Courtland exclaimed. “Lady St. Germaine has never done anything to warrant having the duchess bar her from the house.”
“Except threaten her,” Griff said softly.
“Miranda threatened Aunt Lavinia?” Jonathan couldn’t contain a small satisfied smile. “I would have paid money to see that.”
“Then open your eyes, Barclay,” Colin said. “Because as long as Miranda St. Germaine remains unattached, she’s a threat to the duchess.”
Jonathan widened his eyes, and his smile as understanding dawned. “I assumed Daniel’s infatuation with Miranda was over and done with years ago.”
“So does everyone else,” Jarrod said. “Except Her Grace, the Duchess of Sussex …”
“Who is afraid of losing her influence over society and over her son if she’s consigned to the lesser role of dowager duchess,” Colin added.
“Her Grace is already the dowager duchess,” Courtland reminded them.
“That’s true,” Griff agreed. “But her position as mistress of Sussex House and everything else Sussex owns is secure because Daniel is not married.”
“But Aunt Lavinia’s been pushing young ladies in Daniel’s direction for years,” Jonathan pointed out.
“She pushes a new crop of young ladies in Sussex’s direction every season, knowing he isn’t going to pay them an iota of attention. She knows he isn’t interested in girls fresh from the schoolroom,” Colin explained. “Sussex likes a challenge, and there’s no challenge in having young ladies and their mamas clamoring for him to court them. He’s bored to tears by the whole thing and hasn’t noticed anyone in years …”
“Except Alyssa,” Griff added, reminding them all that he had almost lost his wife to Sussex when Sussex’s mother and Alyssa’s mother, who were fast friends, had planned to unite their families with a marriage between their offspring. But Griff and Alyssa had ruined the plan when they had chosen each other. “Not that I can fault the man’s taste in the least.”
“Alyssa was the exception,” Jarrod reminded him. “And you know it. You must admit, in all fairness, that there were several extenuating circumstances to Sussex’s pursuit of Alyssa.”
“I know that now,” Griff agreed. “But I didn’t know it or appreciate it at the time.”
It had taken him a while to get over his jealousy of Sussex and to forgive the man for seeing Alyssa’s potential as a duchess, but he’d finally managed. He genuinely liked Sussex as a man, and as a friend and fellow Free Fellow, and Griff truly admired the way he carried the burden of his position in society—a position to which Daniel had been born but had been thrust upon Griff, and to which he was still learning to adjust.
“Barclay, you’re his cousin,” Jarrod said. “You’ve known Daniel longer than any of us. So tell us, how many ladies, other than Griff’s duchess, have captured and held Sussex’s attention for longer than a night or two?”
“I can only recall one since he left university,” Jonathan answered.
“And the lady’s name is …” Colin prompted.
“Miranda, Marchioness St. Germaine.”
Jarrod turned to Griffin. “Have you seen Miranda since the party last night?”
Griff frowned. “No. She and her mother were supposed to accompany us to Sussex House, but Miranda suggested we meet there so Lord and Lady Tressingham and my parents could ride with us.”
“It sounds as if Lady Miranda knew she might be turned away at the front door and wanted to spare you and herself a bit of embarrassment,” Alex observed.
Colin nodded in agreement. “Did you see Miranda or her mother there?”
Griff shook his head. “No.”
“I didn’t see her either,” Jonathan added, “but I know Miranda was there because Aunt Lavinia was furious with Daniel for inviting her and furious with Miranda for not being more like her mother and having the good manners to stay away from where she wasn’t invited.”
“Lady St. Germaine didn’
t attend?” Jarrod stopped pacing.
Jonathan shook his head. “No.”
Jarrod met Colin’s gaze and they both looked at Griff. “Did Alyssa mention anything about Miranda leaving town?”
“No.”
“They’re together.” Jarrod grinned. “For whatever reason, Sussex and Miranda are together.”
Colin hesitated. “Maybe.”
Jarrod glared at Colin.
But Colin wasn’t deterred. “Sussex and Miranda may be together, but it’s just as likely that they aren’t.”
“Nobody has seen either one of them,” Jarrod insisted.
“Nobody we’ve talked to has seen either one of them,” Colin reminded him. “But that doesn’t mean they’ve headed to Scotland or that they’re sharing an address. Things are rarely what they seem—especially in our line of work.”
“Grantham’s right,” Courtland said. “We can’t assume anything. We’re just going to have to keep looking until we hear from Sussex.”
Griff glanced at Jarrod. “They’re right.”
“I know,” Jarrod conceded, “but I’d rather believe that Sussex and Miranda are otherwise engaged than the alternative …”
“Because the alternative is that Daniel may be in trouble.” Colin gave voice to their fears. “We may not want to think about it, but we’ll be remiss in our duty if we don’t. We’re engaged in a desperate and dangerous business, and we all know there are French agents here in London …”
“And if any of them suspected Daniel might be involved in a little clandestine smuggling …” Jonathan picked up the direction of Colin’s thoughts.
“The crush at the Duchess of Sussex’s party would have been the perfect place to set a trap for him. No one would have noticed anything unusual in all that crowd,” Courtland said. He shuddered, remembering how close one French agent had come to penetrating the League not so very long ago.
“I was hoping Sussex would walk in tonight with a reasonable explanation for his absence this morning,” Jarrod admitted.
“We were all hoping that would happen,” Jonathan said.
“Then I suppose we’re all in agreement that his continued absence and the information we’ve gathered today means we’ll need to do a bit of reconnoitering among the ton tonight,” Jarrod said.
“Agreed,” replied all the Free Fellows in unison.
“Luckily we all dressed the part.” Jarrod spread his hands wide to indicate his own formal evening dress, then nodded at the other Free Fellows, who were all wearing evening clothes, knowing luck hadn’t played any part in the way they were dressed. They’d each seen the course of action independently and then come together to confer as a unified league.
Courtland grimaced. “I’m escorting my mother to the opera. Where are the rest of you going?”
“Lady Cleveland’s,” Jonathan replied.
“Colin and Gillian and Alyssa and I are going to my sister-in-law’s ball,” Griff said.
“So am I,” Jarrod volunteered.
“What?” Griffin was stunned.
“I’m going to Lady Garrison’s ball.”
“I’m sure my sister-in-law will be delighted,” Griff said. “And I’m not trying to discourage you from attending, but are you certain that’s what you want to do?”
“Quite sure,” Jarrod pronounced. “Since Lady Garrison was kind enough to extend the invitation, I think it’s time I accepted.”
“Every hostess in London invites you to her parties,” Griff reminded him. “And unless our League business requires it or it’s one of Alyssa’s gatherings, you rarely attend any of them.”
“I’m making an exception for Lady Garrison,” Jarrod replied.
“A major exception,” Griff said. “And what I want to know is why?”
Jarrod smiled. “Let’s just say that it’s time I stayed on your duchess’s good side by accepting her sister’s invitation.”
Colin glanced skyward and shook his head at Jarrod’s patently transparent prevarication. “Let’s just say that it probably has something to do with the wager entered into the betting books this afternoon.”
Although Colin rarely wagered except with his closest friends, his father was an inveterate gambler and Colin had made it a matter of habit to check the betting books at White’s in the morning and in the afternoon almost every day to see if his father had wagered on anything recorded on the pages.
“Damnation!” Jarrod swore. “He certainly didn’t waste any time recording it. I only had coffee with him this morning.”
“It was on the books by early afternoon,” Colin told him.
“Has anyone else taken the wager?”
“Of course,” Colin answered. “A wager that large is bound to attract attention.”
“Your father’s?” Jarrod asked.
“Thankfully no,” Colin replied, refilling his coffee cup and taking a sip of the brew. “But there are several others who can’t afford to lose that amount.”
“Who?” Jarrod demanded.
“Carville, Jackson, Munford, and several others.”
“For or against?”
“Those I mentioned are betting on you,” Colin told him. “The others are wagering against it.”
“I haven’t looked at the books lately,” Jonathan said. “So tell us, who wagered what?”
“Yes.” Courtland was fairly chomping at the bit for details. “Who did what?”
“Lord Dunbridge recorded a wager he made with Jarrod,” Colin answered.
“Dunbridge?” Griff scowled. Dunbridge wasn’t one of their contemporaries. And as far as he knew, Jarrod was barely acquainted with the man and didn’t like what he knew of him. “What sort of wager do you have with Lord Dunbridge?”
“A thousand-pound wager,” Colin answered.
“Jupiter!” Barclay exclaimed.
“Must be a sure thing,” Courtland added.
“Far from it, I’d say,” Colin replied. “Lord Dunbridge wagered a thousand pounds that he would marry a certain young lady at the end of the season.”
“At least he had the good manners not to mention her by name,” Jarrod said.
“Oh, but he did,” Colin told him. “I had the good manners not to mention her by name, but Dunbridge wrote it out for all to see.”
“I don’t believe it!” Jarrod was outraged at that breach of etiquette. One might mention a mistress or a widow or a woman of dubious character in wagers of this nature, but never an unmarried young lady of good family.
“Believe it,” Colin said. “It’s there in plain English.” He stood up, then walked to the bell and summoned a footman to bring the current betting book.
The footman returned moments later with the book in hand. Colin handed it to Jarrod.
The entry page was dated with the day’s date, time, and year. Several gentlemen had scrawled their names beneath the wager, recording wagers of their own on the outcome, including the three gentlemen Colin mentioned, all of whom were betting on Jarrod.
Jarrod read the recorded wager aloud. “I, Reginald Blanchard, fourth Viscount Dunbridge, do record this wager of one thousand pounds with Jarrod, fifth Marquess of Shepherdston: I wager that Miss Sarah Eckersley and I shall be married by His Grace, the Archbishop of Canterbury, at Westminster Abbey at season’s end. Lord Shepherdston wagers that I shan’t marry Miss Eckersley at season’s end or at any other time. The cash to be paid at the outcome.” Jarrod finished reading the entry and raked his fingers through his hair. “Bloody hell!”
“What on earth possessed you to wager a thousand pounds on Lord Dunbridge’s proposed nuptials?” Griff was astonished by the amount and by Jarrod’s uncharacteristic behavior.
“I’m acquainted with the young lady he hopes to marry.”
“And?” Griff prompted.
Colin snapped his fingers. “Eckersley. Wasn’t that the name of the young woman you danced with at Esme Harralson’s ball last season? The night I met Gillian?”
Jarrod didn’t answer.
Colin frowned. “Jarrod?”
“Yes,” Jarrod ground out. “And I can guarantee Dunbridge won’t win his wager. Because I won’t allow it.”
“How?” Jonathan inquired.
“I’m escorting her and her aunt to Lady Garrison’s tonight,” Jarrod said.
As if the outcome was already assured.
The other Free Fellows looked at one another. First they would find their missing colleague, then they would get to the bottom of Jarrod’s wager.
Chapter Eighteen
“Persuasion hung upon his lips.”
—Laurence Sterne, 1713–1768
Tristram Shandy
Miranda returned to the master bedchamber wearing a dark blue dress with a square décolletage that showed off her neck and shoulders and created a frame for her bosom. Daniel noticed that her skin was still a little pink and damp in places from her bath, and that she had piled her hair atop her head, confining it in a tight knot, but loose tendrils had escaped to curl around her face. She looked as lovely as Daniel had ever seen her look, and she smelled incredible.
He sighed and shifted his weight from one hip to the other before grabbing a pillow and placing it in his lap, doing everything in his power to keep from tenting the pink bed-sheets with his erection once again.
He’d spent the past three quarters of an hour listening to the sound of water splashing in the bath, and his imagination had run wild. He recognized the sound of water running off her as she rose from the bathwater. He imagined Miranda stepping out of the water and bending at the waist to dry her feet before running the towel up her shapely legs, over the soft skin of her stomach and between her thighs. He imagined droplets of bathwater clinging to her downy auburn triangle like the diamonds that had sparkled in her hair last night. And Daniel imagined tiny droplets of moisture secreted in her navel, decorating the slopes of her breasts and hiding in the valley between them.
“Enjoy your bath?” he asked.
“Very much,” she answered.